


Thief of Moments

by actiasumbra



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Male Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Sleepy Cuddles, an excessive amount of plants, bottom!Emet-Selch, morbol mating patterns, no beta and im dying, someone finally washed my cat!!, someone please wash my cat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actiasumbra/pseuds/actiasumbra
Summary: Slice of life moments between my Warrior of Light and everyone's favorite (s)assmaster, Emet-Selch, bundled up into one convenient, fluffy package.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 46
Kudos: 106





	1. Amongst the Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He took a few steps forward and craned his neck to look down on the Miqo'te. “And what of my offer, hmm? It would hardly be any great effort to restore your flagging apparel. A simple thought, a literal snap of my fingers. No trouble on either of our behalves,” he said as he spread his arms in a lazy shrug.
> 
> Pausing for a moment, Actias flicked his eyes over the other man from head to toe. “Em. You're just fucking weird."

The telltale buzzing aether of a portal coalesced and faded as it resounded against the dense trees of the forest.

“Of all the things I had expected to witness from our vaunted hero, I must say this particular activity had not crossed into my realm of possibility.”

As he whaled away at the trunk of a tree, the small Miqo'te man didn't so much as turn his head in the direction of the noise. He paused mid strike as his retinas threatened to detach with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, a long suffering sigh escaped his lips as the axe fell limply at his side. “Listen. This gear doesn't repair and replace itself,” said the Miqo'te as he turned slowly to face his visitor. He gestured to his threadbare linens and patched leather trews. “It's not like I can snap my fingers and make it all better, so I'm doing the work to earn my coin with what little spare time I've got.”

The visitor leveled an unaffected stare at him, golden eyes shaded by heavy lids. “Actias, had it occurred to you that I might be willing to offer my assistance? Ah- hold that thought,” he held up a single, gloved finger as the other man opened his mouth to speak. “ _Even if_ you could not find it in yourself to accept my charity, surely there are those within the Crystarium that would throw themselves at the opportunity to provide you with adequate armors?”

Actias screwed up his face in distaste. “Out of the question, on both counts. These people have far better things to focus their energies on than patching holes in trousers.”

Emet-Selch took a few steps forward and craned his neck to look down at him. “And what of my offer, hmm? It would hardly be any great effort to restore your flagging apparel. A simple thought, a literal snap of my fingers. No trouble on either of our behalves,” he said as he spread his arms in a lazy shrug.

Pausing for a moment, Actias flicked his eyes over the him from head to toe. “Em. You're just fucking _weird_ ,” he replied as he shoved his shaded spectales up over his forehead and used the edge of a sleeve to dab the sweat from his brow.

Emet-Selch, architect of myriad imperially inclined nations, sorcerer of eld, and dramaturge extraordinaire, physically recoiled at the other man's blunt words. His mouth hung open for the most fleeting of moments, eyes widened in shock, before forcing himself back into a schooled mask of disinterest.

Before Emet-Selch could form a reply, Actias continued, “Had it ever occurred to _you_ that even a 'vaunted hero' needs a minute to themselves every once in a while? It's not just the coin, it's the solitude. The _silence,_ ” he said, pointedly quirking a brow.

Another ragged sigh escaped as he flopped down into the plush layer of lavender leaves on the forest floor. “Sometimes, I need to hit something that isn't moving while I think. It helps me organize my thoughts, clear my head.” Actias stared up through the canopy, his eyes followed a small flock of birds as they flitted through the midday sky. “I like to breathe in the scents of the forest, far away from the city or the settlements. Just… close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the cloudkin, the beastkin. If I close my eyes, it's almost like I never left. I can sit here, in peace, and pretend that the world isn't falling to pieces around me.” His eyes drifted shut, a pinched expression upon his face.

Emet-Selch's steps shuffled closer as he settled on the pile of leaves beside him. “Glib tongue aside,” he said, narrowed eyes focused on the man below him, “There was once a time when very little else could ease the unrest of my own mind.” Actias barely stifled a snorted bit of laughter at his statement. “What? 'Tis true, there exist few things greater than the moments we can steal for ourselves. Indeed, 'tis enough to render me somewhat reluctant to continue to invade these bits of solace you've scraped up for yourself.”

Actias couldn't restrain the bark of laughter that escaped at those words. “ _Solus_ , invading my _solace._ Hah!” He pounded his fist into the ground a few times as his shoulders shook with laughter, sending puffs of leaves into the air around him.

Emet-Selch placed a gloved hand over Actias's mouth to muffle his giggles. “Had I known you would be this insufferable, I would have simply remained within the shadows from the start. I am certainly beginning to regret my offer of treating with you and your ilk.” After another bout of sputtered laughter, he retrieved his dampened glove, lips down-turned in disgust. Gingerly, he tugged the offending item off and tossed it absently over his shoulder. The glove disappeared before colliding with the ground in a wisp of amethyst aether. With a snap, a fresh, unsoiled glove appeared in Emet-Selch's hand to take its place. “Absolute savages, the lot of you,” he muttered with a glare as he replaced his garment.

Actias wiped a bit of spittle from his lip with the sleeve of his tunic. “Lesson learned, then, weirdo?,” he said as a wide smirk spread across his face.

An exasperated breath left Emet-Selch's lungs as he collapsed back into the bed of leaves beside him, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Oh, _do shut up_ ,” he sighed as he crossed one arm over the other.

Actias rolled over to his side to face him, propping his head up with a hand. “Aww, come on,” he teased as he reached out out to poke at Emet-Selch's shoulder, “We're all at least a little weird. If it's any comfort, a good laugh is almost as much of a balm as a good think.” Shrugging with one shoulder, he continued, “I'm not sure what you were looking for here, but I don't consider it to be time misspent.”

From the corner of his eye, Emet-Selch watched Actias huff a bit of his fallen bangs from his eyes. As he unfolded his arms to pillow behind his head, he was stricken with a biting pang of nostalgia. The distant memory of many scenes, such as the one they now shared, clawed forth and wrenched his chest tightly.

_Hmm. The leaves were lavender back then, weren't they?_

The sudden movement at his side jolted him from his momentary lapse in focus. Actias grunted as he hauled himself up and stood with one hand on his hip. He tipped his glasses back down and stooped to offer Emet-Selch a hand up. “I believe I've begged enough time away."

Emet-Selch hummed in assent, taking the proffered hand to begrudgingly pry himself from his pile of leaves. “So eager to return to your adoring public, are you?”

Actias shook his head and laughed through his nose, “There's dinner to be found somewhere. If I'm lucky, _sleep_. Besides, these logs won't sell themselves, either. And, that,” he waved his hand around in a circular gesture while he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, “That's a _whole thing_. Feo-Ul is touchy at the best of times.”

“Therein lies your first mistake of many, entrusting the logistics of your financial well being to the fae,” Emet-Selch offered with a wink. “I also hope that your evening's activities include _bathing_ at some point.”

Actias dragged his palm down his face with a groan. “An actual bath. Wouldn't that be amazing? Care to walk me back?,” he offered with a hopeful grin.

Emet-Selch heaved a dramatic sigh as his shoulders drooped ever further. “My dear hero, it's a matter of willing myself to appear back at your Crystarium. For that matter, you possess not only a mount with flying capabilities, but the means of teleportation through their aethernet. Why do you insist on walking everywhere?”

Actias shrugged once more, “The conversation is much more entertaining this way. C'mon, we can snag a couple of amaro, those things're great!” He grinned as his ears flicked up and down. He turned on his heel, headed back through the forest in search of the path to the Ostall Imperative.

Emet-Selch straightened, starting forward to catch up, before he simply shook his head and willed himself to materialize in step with the man.

_Some things never change._


	2. Foot in Mouth Syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well," he dropped his gaze to the grass beneath his stretched out legs, "I already spent the teleportation fee and as it turns out, I didn't need nearly as much galago mint as I thought. Figured I may as well hang around for the trillium to bloom while I'm at it,” Actias replied with a sheepish grin.
> 
> Emet-Selch leveled a slow blink at the man perched on the overlook. “You mean to tell me that you have been sitting here all this time waiting on a flower to bloom?”

A small chime from the aether monitoring reserves Emet-Selch kept running in the background of his consciousness indicated that his hero was on the move. No, not merely traveling, he'd returned to… the Source? With a half hearted shove of his chair, he extracted himself from his desk and absently shuffled the tablet and missives before him into some semblance of order. “This should be interesting. At the very least, less excruciating than these reports. _Honestly_ , Elidibus,” he muttered, before melding into the shadows of transport.

“I distinctly remember requesting that whatever you do, it be _worth watching._ You've been sitting atop this cliff nigh on two hours, during which you've accomplished precisely nothing.”

Actias yelped and stiffened, the furred end of his tail flared out. He clutched his hand to his chest in attempt to slow his hammering heart. “I, uh… Holy shit, wish you'd give me some warning,” he breathed a sigh of relief. “I'm waiting.”

Emet-Selch placed a well practiced pinch to the bridge of his nose. “Obviously. Whatever in the hells are you waiting _for?”_

“Well," he dropped his gaze to the grass beneath his stretched out legs, "I already spent the teleportation fee and as it turns out, I didn't need _nearly_ as much galago mint as I thought. Figured I may as well hang around for the trillium to bloom while I'm at it,” Actias replied with a sheepish grin.

Emet-Selch leveled a slow blink at the man perched on the overlook. “You mean to tell me that you have been sitting here all this time waiting on a _flower_ to bloom?”

Actias's shoulders pitched upward, his mouth twisted in a slight grimace, “Yeaaah.” He turned back to face the sparse few workers of the Hawthorne Hut who milled about below, relaxing once again. “The Shroud is so peaceful once most of the people have gone home, I may have lost track of time. Anyway, trillium only reaches its peak potential at certain times of the day. Now, I'm not terribly great at alchemy, but I've come pretty far in my training! I've got a new recipe to try out and I need fresh blooms.”

Sunlight was quickly blotted out behind the abundant trees of the Shroud, laden branches choking off any clear view of the sky. Emet-Selch studied the illuminated profile of Actias for a few moments, the soft, cerulean glow from the Hut's aetheryte danced across the dark planes of his face. The similarities within this shard were beginning to compound, much to his surprise.

After a moment, he noted that at least the hero's clothing appeared to have been replaced at some point. He now wore a shirt of fine, inky blue linen, gathered at the biceps and forearms with thin stays of leather. His boots, folded over at the quarter, nearly gleamed and nary a scratch could be spotted on his trousers. Emet-Selch cleared his throat, making a vague motion to the man's garb, “I see you've managed to find suitable replacements for your gear at some point. I was beginning to wonder if your chosen aesthetic was intentionally reminiscent of a wet gremlin.”

Rather than appearing affronted for the backhanded compliment, Actias merely smirked. “You noticed! I thought you'd have better things to do than critique the state of my wardrobe.”

Once again floundering for a response, Emet-Selch's reply faded when Actias's ears perked up suddenly. “Ah-HAH! There it is! C'mon, Em, my plant senses are tingling.”

Emet-Selch blinked with a tilt of his head, “ _Please_ stop calling me tha-”

“Oh, that's the one,” Actias exclaimed as he retrieved a small, pearlescent horn from the pouch affixed to his upper arm. With a single blown note, the most rotund and imposing moogle Emet-Selch had ever witnessed popped into existence. The massive thing was accompanied by a pair of smaller moogles at either side, each wielding a tiny trumpet. Actias took a seat upon the wooden bench, attached by a vine and rose laden harness which encircled the creature. “It's a two seater,” he said, patting the empty spot next to him with a wide grin.

Emet-Selch stood motionless, narrowed eyes darting between the moogle, the seat, and Actias, still grinning like it was his nameday. “I _know_. Isn't it awful? You're welcome to walk or, you know,” he wiggled his fingers, “Poof, if you'd like. In or out, I don't have all day.”

Curiosity warred with propriety and once again, emerged the victor. Emet-Selch slouched into his seat beneath the undulating moogle as he crossed his arms and closed his eyes against the headache that currently brewed at his temples. With a cacophony of warbles, the moogle pitched forward. Gnarled trees, thorned bushes, and low hanging branches whipped past the pair as they raced forward along the Shroud's overgrown paths. Despite its size, Emet-Selch had to concede, the moogle was surprisingly maneuverable.

After they'd traveled for several minutes, Actias elbowed Emet-Selch in the side and pointed to a particularly lush patch of vegetation, “There it is!”

As suddenly as it had appeared, the pair was abruptly ejected from the bench as the giant moogle scampered off into oblivion. Emet-Selch, unprepared for the dismount, lurched forward, his arms flailed outward as he struggled to gain his footing on the forest floor. After a misstep over a whorled root crashed his knee into the ground, Emet-Selch decided that he'd endured quite enough, thank you. “Of all the absurd--Would it have been _too much_ to ask for some modicum of civility?!,” he snarled.

Actias had continued forward effortlessly, already beside the patch. Before he could fish his scythe from his belt, he looked back with a stricken expression as Emet-Selch grumbled and began to stand, massaging his bashed knee. “OH! Are you alright? I'm so, so sorry, I wasn't even thinking.” Actias darted back to the flustered man and started to help him dust off his skirts.

Emet-Selch batted his hands away. “Stop it--Stop that! I am perfectly fine, your concern is unneccessary,” he wheezed as Actias began to haphazardly swipe twigs and debris from his legs again, wincing as he smacked his bruised knee in the process. “Are you sure, you took a pretty nasty tumble. I have a medical kit in my pack. Here, hang on,” he blathered as he swung around the larger pack from his back.

“I _said I am fine_ ,” Emet seethed through clenched teeth. He began to form a small orb of aether within his palm, allowing it to flow into and soothe the throbbing pain emanating from his knee. With another sigh he shook out his hands and stood as he glared down at Actias, paused elbow deep in his pack. “See? All better. 'Tis absolutely no need for whatever primitive salves you've squirreled away. Go on, go retrieve your _flowers_ or whatever it is that was important enough to send me sailing into the dirt,” he said, flapping his hand in the direction of the bush.

“O-ok, if you're sur-” “ _ **Go**_ ,” Emet-Selch bellowed, stabbing a finger at the trillium.

Actias's deep violet eyes went wide as he blinked owlishly. Slowly, he retreated a few paces and returned to his quarry. Emet-Selch folded his palm against his forehead as he watched the man kneel in front of the tiny, white petaled plants. He removed the scythe from the loop on his belt and began to meticulously slice the blooming flowers, heads and all, from their stalks, ever so careful to avoid bruising or tearing even a single petal.

After taking quick stock of his vessel, Emet-Selch concluded that the only lingering injury was to his pride. He let his hand fall to his side and looked up to the canopy, gathering his resolve as he trudged toward the hapless botanist. “Two hours you've wasted and you have a handful of flowers to show for your efforts. Was such an endeavor truly necessary?”

Actias tilted his head up sharply, furrowing his brow at the looming man. “Wasted? Is that what you think I've been doing? Wasting my time?” He shook his head, placing each bloom carefully into a felt lined, wooden box he'd crafted for transporting delicate materials. “I'm bettering my understanding of a science I _enjoy_ and you consider that a wasted effort?” Actias made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, stabbing his scythe into the soft earth beside him as he latched the box closed. “Em, you're kind of a dick, you know that? What are you even _doing here_ if everything I choose to do with my free time irritates you so much? Just... fuck off, will you? Leave me to my stupid flowers in peace.” After placing his scythe back in the loop at his side, Actias immediately began to channel a teleport to his private estate.

Before Emet-Selch could respond, Actias disappeared into a cloud of shimmering blue aether. As he stood alone in the Shroud, something dangerously close to guilt began to worm its way to the forefront of his thoughts. Well. Having his primary source of entertainment, however crude, upset with his behavior wouldn't do, now would it? With a heavy sigh, he traced the path of his companion to the outskirts of Gridania and melded into his own darkened portal to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssht, tense continuity? I don't know her.  
> I lied, I do, and I believe I fixed it >_>. In my defense, I was two very lemon-with-my-whisky toddies deep. Thank you all for the feedback so far, comments give me life T_T. Y'all the Fat Moogle was probably the best twenty bucks I've ever spent on this game.


	3. All's Well that Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actias visibly deflated, frowning at the other man. “Oh, come off it, J'ie, I'm not in the mood to deal with your bullshit today,” he snapped, shoving a heavy satchel into J'ie's hands. “How the fuck was I supposed to know anything about morbol mating displays? If you'd be so kind as to take those to the markets in Limsa, I'd be grateful,” he said, as he produced another, smaller pouch from one of his many pockets. “Here, for your troubles. More than you deserve, you sour asshole.”

Actias grumbled to himself as he smacked the summoning bell with, perhaps, a bit more force than necessary. Several seconds later, another Miqo'te appeared, his stark, pink hair clashing vividly with the muted jewel tones of the living room. “Ah, of course it's you. What fresh hell of a task have you brought for me this time? If you're intent on sending me back into that cave, we're going to have _another_ discussion involving human resources.”

Actias visibly deflated, frowning at the other man. “Oh, come off it, J'ie, I'm not in the mood to deal with your bullshit today,” he snapped, shoving a heavy satchel into J'ie's hands. “How the fuck was I supposed to know anything about morbol mating displays? If you'd be so kind as to take those to the markets in Limsa, I'd be grateful,” he said, as he produced another, smaller pouch from one of his many pockets. “Here, for your troubles. More than you deserve, you sour asshole.”

“My thanks,” J'ie grated out between clenched teeth and teleported back to his station with an exaggerated bow.

Of all the retainers in Limsa Lominsa, Actias was convinced he'd been stuck with the worst of the lot. Even before the cave, the man had vehemently despised his patronage. How J'ie kept his job with such a piss-poor attitude boggled the mind. At some point, Actias started to skip the formalities entirely. He slumped into the plush, crimson chair beside his bell and began to unlace his boots. After kicking them clear across the room in frustration, wincing as one connected with his cupboard, he sank back and closed his eyes.

Abruptly, his eyes popped open again. Shit, he needed to water his plants. How long had it been, this time? Four days or five? More? With a groan, he placed his hands on his knees and peeled himself from the chair, snagging a pitcher from the coffee table on his slow drudge to the tap.

As he stared absently into the pooling water at the bottom of the pitcher, three sharp knocks sounded from his door. “I swear, if it's the Beds' manager come to complain about my overgrown willow again, I might just _have_ to punch someone today. Nobody even lives on that corner, it's the _Shroud_ for fuck's sake.”

He flicked off the spigot and made his way to the door, perched on his tiptoes to peer out the peephole. Standing there, adjusting his gloves in the middle of the pathway, was none other than Emet fucking Selch. An Ascian. In broad daylight. _In his yard_. His forehead thumped against the mahogany of the door.

“ _ **NO**_ ," he shouted with exasperation. "Go. Away."

“I seem to have been careless with my words in the Shroud and I merely thought to apologize for my behavior, as it were. Please don't make me stand out here, yelling my reparations through the door, because I shall continue,” Emet-Selch's muffled voice replied with his trademark teasing lilt.

Actias pressed his palms into both eyes until colors began to form behind his lids. If he didn't open the door, would the man just teleport inside? 

"I really cannot express my most earnest apologies fully through layers of wood and stone," as promised, the man continued yelling from beyond the door. 

Maybe it would be harder to hear his simpering in the basement? Defeated, Actias sighed and began to turn the locks. He ripped the door open and glared daggers at the man upon his threshold. Without a word, he stepped aside and motioned for Emet-Selch to enter with a sharp sweep of his arm.

"Ah, many thanks," he muttered as he shuffled through the doorway. Once inside, Actias slammed the door behind them, flipped the locks once again, and stomped back over to his half filled pitcher.

Emet-Selch stood, at a loss, in the center of the room as his gaze traveled over the plants and furnishings. "Your home is lovely, Actias," he said as he finally arrived at the sheer multitude of plants taking up most of the south-eastern wall. "You've really quite the green thumb, I see."

Actias continued to glare at the man as he moved about, measuring out water for each of his pots. "What gave it away?," he hissed, narrowing his eyes. Normally, he'd be halfway through a vigorous retelling of his recent travels. Actias was firmly of the belief that talking to your plants promoted much better growth, even if you looked like a complete moron while doing so. Yet another part of his day ruined, apparently.

Emet-Selch awkwardly cleared his throat. "My words in the forest were... Unworthy, at best. As I'm sure you're aware, I was quite out of my element. While I will not claim my own duress an excuse for my behavior, it certainly fares as the reason, however poor." Emet-Selch stepped tentatively toward the wall of plants, eyes focused on the floor. "Truly, I apologize, as you say, for being a 'dick,' and I will endeavor to be more mindful in the future. I most certainly _do not_ hold the belief that making strides to educate yourself in various subjects is a waste of time," he said, gesturing to the surrounding foliage. "'Tis apparently something you possess no small talent for." He offered a wan smile as he bent down and tilted his head to catch Actias's line of vision.

Actias slowly raised his head to meet Emet-Selch's shadowed eyes. He was so tired and honestly couldn't find the strength to stay upset. "I started this one from a single, sad frond I collected outside of Camp Tranquil," he muttered, dragging a finger along one of the many lush blades of his most beloved fern. "His name is Fernando," he continued with a slight smile. "When he became too bushy, I split his roots and started his sibling," he pointed to another, slightly smaller fern in the corner. "That's Fernard," he continued in a conspiratory whisper, " _they're twins_." He couldn't help snickering to himself.

"Oh, you're _very_ proud of that, aren't you," Emet-Selch drawled with a slight roll of his eyes, smiling down at the other man.

"Em," Actias started, as he placed his empty pitcher back on the coffee table, "Why do you keep following me? Surely, you've got loads more important places to be, better things to be doing. Twelve knows I'm knee deep in thorns or swamp, staring out at nothing if I get half a chance. That has to fall under your 'cardinal sin of boring,' I think."

Actias had wondered about the man's off-putting vigilance for some time, truth be told. He never kept tabs on any of the Scions, that he could tell, they definitely would have mentioned something.

Emet-Selch pursed his lips as he lifted a finger to tap at them in thought. Ah, void take it. He decided to forego the half-truths he wielded so effortlessly, electing honesty as a replacement. "To be frank, you... remind me of someone I once knew. Even in your self described most boring moments, I keep finding things in you which remind me of him."

Actias eyes widened by a fraction as his mouth hung open slightly. Well, shit. That's not what he expected. "Uh," he began, eloquently, "You mean, like an old friend?"

"After a fashion, yes. He had quite the proclivity for growing things, often when naught else had taken root before. In truth, that man could have pulled entire fields from solid stone. He also possessed your particular inclination for absent mindedness," Emet-Selch continued with a soft smile, his voice sounded malms away.

Actias had never seen such a softened expression on the imposing man before him. His eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing in particular, turned up by a fraction at the edges. As he recounted the memory of his friend, his smile was genuine, a far cry from his usual demeaning smirk. If he didn't know better, Actias would have described the look as... actually happy. At peace. The stark difference in Emet-Selch's appearance struck him to the very core.

"What was his name, Em?"

Emet-Selch blinked as he turned to look down upon the Miqo'te again. The serene expression melted away as quietly as it had appeared, replaced with stern, half lidded eyes, lips drawn into a tight line. "That, my dear hero, is a tale for another time."

Fuck, it'd been the wrong thing to ask. Actias mentally kicked himself for ruining the moment. "Er, well... You... You eat things, right?"

Emet-Selch blinked a few times, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"It's just, ah, it's pretty late now and I was going to start dinner soon. Nothing you're probably used to, but you're welcome to join me. You know. If you want." Actias fumbled over his words, wringing his hands absently. What the fuck was he doing?

"That sounds like an invitation I simply cannot refuse," Emet-Selch replied, smirk firmly returned to its rightful place. "We can discuss your alchemical studies while we eat, I daresay I could offer you pointers you'll not be privy to in that guild of yours."

"Know what?,'" Actias said, a smirk of his own spreading. "It's a date, grandpa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of my retainers are complete assholes T_T. J'ie is named for my very first character in Final Fantasy XI, I imagine he would have become a bit of a curmudgeon at some point.
> 
> Fernard and Fernando are a pair of my own ferns that sadly, didn't last the winter ;_;. They will be missed. Thank you all for the lovely comments <3.
> 
> GRANDPA DINNER PARTY YEAH


	4. Toiling with Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actias screwed up his face in thought. "You know, I've been tryin' to get my hands on lupin seeds for fuckin' ages. J'ie's been absolutely zero help, that bastard. Em. Em, he hates me," he said, drunkenly pawing at Emet-Selch's arm. "I accidentally sent him into a cave full of fuckin' morbols once. ONCE. I mean, literally fuckin' morbols, though. He told me it took him a godsdamned week to get the plant jizz out of his tunic," he cackled. "Threatened to contact the head retainer vocate about it!"

"No, no, here. Press with the _pads_ of your fingers, like so," Emet-Selch corrected, as he placed Actias's fingers lightly upon the handles of the small tool. "Once you have determined the correct angle, _gently_ slide forward through the channel. Allow your tool to perform it's intended task, there's no need for force. You'll find that this method of rendering refines the petals into a much higher quality extract once distilled. 'Tis scarce sense in spending all that time gathering the blooms if you do not optimize the process from the very start."

Actias was pretty sure he was dying. His already darkened cheeks were absolutely enflamed as Emet-Selch studiously manhandled his fingers. Their truffle risotto had grown cold, largely untouched. Once he'd deigned to retrieve his alembic and mortar, all bets regarding boundaries were, decidedly, off. His calluses, ridges, nicks, and uneven, blunted nails contrasted starkly against Emet-Selch's own impeccably manicured and curiously smooth hands. He'd removed his gloves to eat and Actias had been mesmerized since. That had to be an Ascian thing, right? Nobody's hands were _that_ perfect. 

What? Extract? Oh. "Like this?" Actias dutifully recreated the motions at his mortar as instructed, bisecting the delicate, white petals of the trillium.

Emet-Selch stood from his seat at the table and shuffled behind him. "Nearly," he said as he placed a hand on either of the smaller man's forearms, lifting them slightly. "There, that should do the trick."

For someone who spent most of his time utilizing his barbed tongue at length, Emet-Selch was a surprisingly patient and tactile instructor. He hadn't once hesitated to offer physical corrections to posture and form, in lieu of spoken words. Actias couldn't argue with the results, however, he'd never processed foliage this thoroughly before.

"I don't know how to thank you for this, you've probably saved me an entire second trip to the Shroud," he said, beaming up at the man over his shoulder as he gingerly placed the petals within his alembic.

Emet-Selch waved a hand to dismiss his concern. "Think nothing of it, after my display in the forest earlier, offering my assistance in your task was the least I could do. Come now, the rest of the blooms will keep, finish your dinner. You can place theory into practice on the morrow," he said, making his way back around to the empty chair.

As he tucked back into his meal, Actias stifled a small laugh. The cumbersome Garlean was comically perched upon the simple Ishgardian chair. His knees rose well and above the edge of the dining table, his already atrocious posture exaggerated by how far he had to lean to reach his own dish. "I know it's nothing special, but I hope the risotto is alright. I don't keep many groceries on hand, being gone so often," he said around a mouth full of rice and truffle.

"Rest assured that were it not serviceable, I would hardly continue to put it into my mouth," Emet-Selch replied, eyes crinkling at the edges. "I will say, however, that the wine is absolutely delectable. Where ever did you manage to locate such a fine vintage? I'm of half a mind to create another bottle on the spot."

Actias raised his glass, squinting at the pink liquid. "Is it really that good? I don't know anything about wine. I seem to remember something involving Gegeruju, from Costa del Sol, though. That man gives me the creeps." He shuddered at the thought of ever having to deal with that conniving little shit again and downed the rest of his glass.

"I suppose I should once again be grateful for your heroic endeavors." Emet-Selch laughed quietly to himself, pouring another generous glass of the wine for the both of them.

The pair continued exchanging small talk about the inner workings of alchemical components and techniques throughout the meal. The _absurdly expensive_ bottle of rosé was quickly drained and replaced with a snap of Emet-Selch's fingers.

"I'm never gonna get used to that," Actias said, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he stood to collect their dishes. Woah, yep, he probably should have eaten more today. After unceremoniously depositing the dishes into the basin, he turned and leaned against the counter, hands braced on either side of his hips, his tail swishing back and forth. "How the hells does that work? You just... I dunno, poof! _Things_!"

Crowing with laughter, Emet-Selch dug around his breast pocket to fish out a handkerchief, dabbing absently at the corner of his eyes. "My dear man," he replied, still laughing as he spoke, "Please be assured that considerably more than 'poofing' things into existence is involved during the execution of creation magicks."

Actias shoved himself from the counter, teetering dangerously forward before regaining his balance. "C'mere, s-sit down," he slurred, "I'mma need a better demna-demonster-fuck, show me somethin' cool. Uh. Please." He flopped down onto his sofa, nodding for the man to take one of the other seats. Instead of taking one of the proffered accent chairs, Emet-Selch padded over and sat down beside him.

He hummed quietly to himself for a moment while stroking his chin. "Tell me, are there any species of plants you've yet to cultivate on your own that, perhaps, you might be interested in caring for?"

Actias screwed up his face in thought. "You know, I've been tryin' to get my hands on lupin seeds for fuckin' ages. J'ie's been absolutely _zero_ help, that bastard. Em. Em, he hates me," he said, drunkenly pawing at Emet-Selch's arm. "I accidentally sent him into a cave full of fuckin' morbols once. ONCE. I mean, _literally fuckin'_ morbols, though. He told me it took him a godsdamned week to get the plant jizz out of his tunic," he cackled. "Threatened to contact the head retainer vocate about it!"

After prying the clawing fingers from his robes, Emet-Selch stood again and strode quickly back to the sink. "Evidently, someone could use a _large_ glass of water."

"Is it me?," the drunkard bellowed, placing both hands on top of his head. "Hah! _Yeah_ , it's me."

He shoved the glass into the flailing hands of the man on the sofa. "Ah-stop wiggling and drink, please, then I shall continue." Actias gulped down the entire glass in one go, wiping his mouth on a sleeve, and plopped it on the coffee table with a _thunk_. "There's a good hero," Emet-Selch cooed, patting the man on the head _,_ fingers clipping an ear as he withdrew. _Uh oh_. Oh, _no_. That felt _fucking amazing_. Actias's traitorous body leaned after the retreating hand, if only for a moment, before jerking back to right himself on the couch. He clapped his hands to his knees. "Ok, show me what you got."

"Hmm, pray indulge me for a moment. Your hand, if you will?" Oh, was he asking now? Actias stretched out his hand tentatively as Emet-Selch engulfed the back with his own, turning his palm up. "I've, surprisingly, no experience to base this particular experiment on. Let me know if you experience any discomfort, yes?"

Slowly, an electric sensation began to seep into his skin, reverberating its way throughout each of Actias's fingers, emanating from each point of connection with the larger hand encompassing his own. He gasped, pulling back out of reflex. "Is aught amiss?" Emet-Selch's brows furrowed with concern, turning sharply to peer down at him. "I'm ok," Actias quickly shook his head, the spike in adrenaline had sobered him significantly. "I just. I don't know what I expected," he laughed nervously. "It's not painful, though. Just feels weird. What are you doing?"

"Ages ago, when realizing a concept, whether through means of experimentation or by tested design, we would begin by channeling our aether into the appropriate, hmm," he tapped his chin with his free hand, "Scaffolding, as it were. A basis on which to build anew or reproduce the intended creation." The frigid, electric threads of energy once again began snaking their way throughout each and every nerve of his hand. Actias stiffened, resisting the urge to twitch again. "I am slowly piecing together each step in this process through your own aether. Simply showing you has done little to cement the complexity of the process. I could snap my fingers twenty times, but what would you learn? As you are, it would be nigh impossible to manipulate your aether in such a manner that would allow you to create. Nevertheless, at least in this manner, you _can_ experience it properly. Now, hold still, will you?"

Actias gazed intently as thin, dark tendrils of aether emerged through his palm, swirling amongst several others which shone a brilliant blue. "See? Those blue currents are _your_ aether, magnified exponentially and intertwined with my own. Of course, they provide little in terms of the actual creation process, however, the finished product will contain minute traces of your own essence." By now, the resonating electricity had traveled the full length of his arm, encircling his chest within an icy shroud. He shivered slightly, it was as though he'd been plunged bodily into one of the frozen lakes of Coerthas. "Now, now," Emet-Selch chided, tapping Actias's forehead, "Open your eyes, my dear. We're almost finished."

Actias's eyes flew open with a sharp intake of breath, staring once again at the coalescing aether within his palm. When had he closed them?

The blackened tendrils thickened, breaking off into several rounded shapes before his eyes. Suddenly, a handful of cream colored seeds sprang forth, clacking together softly as they landed in a small pile. The chilled sensation permeating his core ceased. Emet-Selch closed Actias's palm around them, beaming down at him. "There we are, four onzes of the finest lupin seeds, as requested," he finished, patting the fist within his grasp.

Actias gawked dumbly at Emet-Selch's hand around his closed fist, mouth agape. "You made me seeds," he whispered in awe. 

"Indeed, I have. Rather high quality ones, at that. I trust you'll have few issues with their germination," he said, motioning to greenery surrounding them with his free hand.

Actias gently closed his other, trembling hand around Emet-Selch's. "Em, you made me seeds. In my house," he said, blinking his misty eyes rapidly against the threat of tears.

"I pulled an entire bottle of wine from thin air earlier," Emet-Selch said, hushing the other man as he swiped an escaped tear from his cheek with a thumb. "Technically speaking, _we_ made the seeds."

It was probably the lingering effects of the wine. Suddenly, his emotions condensed into an unruly font. The years of feeling alone. Untouchable. Naught but his plants to keep him company on the scant few nights he could relax in his own home. He couldn't remember the last time someone spent time with him that wasn't largely dominated by one plot or another. Determining where his efforts might best be spent, which enemies he should be focused toward next. He dropped his palmful of seeds into a dish on the table and surged forward to embrace Emet-Selch, burying his face in the soft fur of his overcoat.

Emet-Selch froze, straightening his back as the other man sobbed quietly into his chest. Well, this was certainly not the intended effect of such a demonstration. He slowly brought an arm around to smooth soothing circles into his back. " _Actias_ , come now, dry your eyes," he whispered, gently hooking a finger under the man's chin to meet his reddened eyes. "Whatever is all this about?"

"Not one, not a _single person_ ," Actias growled out, leaning back as he sniffled into a proffered handkerchief, dabbing at his face, "has _ever_ thought to share my company for sake of _sharing my company_. There's always something they need. Go here, deliver this, kill that, oh, and _stop this fucking war,_ on the way, would'ja? No, not this war, _that war_. Ta!" He scowled as new tears began streaming down his cheeks. "It's exhausting. I am _so_ fucking tired. I was so angry earlier because when I have free time, I use it to do things that have _fuck all_ to do with saving the world. I pick flowers, I lay about in the fields for fucking hours, staring up at the sky. For the past month, I've been stranded on the First, yanked from crisis to crisis, absorbing Twelve knows what into my body with nary a complaint and not. A. Single. Person," he cried, punctuating each word by thumping his fist against Emet-Selch's chest, "Has committed even two _godsdamned braincells_ to consider how I felt!" Actias was still trembling, but instead of being anxious, he felt only anger. "You came here to apologize, but you stayed. You didn't have to and you haven't asked me for a thing. You've been sitting in my living room for hours and all we've accomplished is drinking, like, a lot, and making some fucking seeds. Do you have _any idea_ how rare this is for me, how much it means?" Finished, Actias deflated and began to pull away from the other man, having forgotten himself during his rant. "I'm sorry, I shouldn-"

His words trailed off as the other man drew him back into his arms, enfolding each of the great, gangly things around his back entirely. "Actias, unique though the burdens you carry may be, it no longer needs be something you must endure alone." Emet-Selch's deep, soothing cadence resonated through his chest, tearing his frustrations free, one bond at a time. Actias heaved a ragged sigh and curled further into the embrace, stretching his arms as far as they could reach around the other man, fingers barely meeting at the middle of his back.

Pain gathered across his face Emet-Selch gazed at the ceiling, still caressing the shaking man in his arms. There could be no mistaking the origin of this shard now. Not after having literally dipped his fingers into his companion's aether.

He'd _finally_ found him.


	5. Stolen Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mind the updated tags and rating ;D.

How long had they been sitting on the couch like this? Wrapped up in one another, painless silence infusing the room as they shared in the simple comfort of another's touch.

Actias had long ceased his sobbing, his frustrations lay bleeding and broken, naught but pieces ground into the plush fibers of his carpet and left to rot. Truth be told, he hadn't felt this relieved in ages. He rifled through his memories, hands now tucked firmly within the thick fur of Emet-Selch's overcoat. Nope, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to talk about his ails without being on the receiving end of harsh judgement.

Sure, he could solve other's problems all fucking day, but woebetide the second he actually considered venting his own. Crying yourself to sleep on a cot in the arse end of Eorzea was no substitute for the catharsis of being able to pour out your heart to someone that gave a damn.

Actias breathed deeply, releasing a defeated sigh into the other man's coat and buried his face deeper within the fabric. He expected the man to smell of nothing at all. Instead, he was enveiled by freshly hewn woods, warm spices, and the barest, trailing hint of crisp greenery.

Emet-Selch squeezed softly around his shoulder in response. "Shh, my dear, I have you," he whispered, tucking his chin against the crown of the smaller man's head. Their earlier experiment with creation magicks had effectively sealed both his fate and his intentions. Thanks to his positioning, he could allow himself to survey the fluorescent, undulating hue of the soul below him without reserve. Sundered though it was, its brilliance was indisputable.

Here he sat, the preeminent thorn in the side of the vast majority of his people's recent endeavors all but cradled upon his lap and naught a care for the repercussions. "Em," Actias finally spoke, his voice ragged from his sobs and muffled within Emet-Selch's robes, "You didn't have to do this..."

Emet-Selch drew back to meet his eyes, hands still firmly clasped around his shoulders and smiling softly. Golden pools sparkled, refracting and shimmering in the light of the floor lamp. "All evidence points to the contrary, dearheart," he said, gently sweeping some of the mussed, black strands out of the smaller man's eyes, tucking them over an ear.

At this distance, Actias could feel his humid breath escaping with each whispered word, still laced with the acrid sweetness of the wine. He closed his eyes against the staccato thrumming within his chest, failing to suppress a shudder when Emet-Selch's hand drifted over his ear once again.

Emet-Selch made a quizzical noise in his throat. It seemed as though his companion's ears were _especially_ sensitive. Concealing a smirk, he stroked the ear again. Before, it had been a slip of the hand, unintended contact. This time, he drew those silky fingers slowly across the soft fur, drawing the stroke out to the very tip.

Actias froze, twisting his eyes shut and choked on a moan that threatened to escape his lips. That touch sent a bolt of unbridled heat that raced straight to his cock, a situation was rapidly making itself apparent within his thin hose. Did that just happen? Dear gods, that happened.

Emet-Selch craned his neck forward and down, brushing his lips against Actias's temple. "Pray forgive me, I couldn't resist a repeat performance... Is this all right?" His lips moved softly, melding the words into his companion's skin. Those graceful fingers threaded themselves around the side of his neck and continued to crawl up through the hair at his nape.

Actias's brain short circuited before he could properly form a reply. The dark skin of his knuckles bled nearly white from the force of crushing the other man's overcoat between his fingers. The hand that wasn't entangled in Actias's hair moved to cup his cheek, gently lifting his face. Emet-Selch's lidded gaze searched his own guileless stare. Still unable to form words, Actias nodded minutely, tongue flicking out to moisten his parted lips. Those eyes snapped straight to his mouth, locked on the diminutive gesture.

The punched out noise Actias made would have been mortifying had it not promptly been swallowed by the velveteen mouth crushed against his own. Teeth clacked and lips bruised as Emet-Selch did his absolute damnedest to devour him whole.

Actias could do little more than whimper pathetically between heaving pants as he was hauled astride his lap. Emet-Selch snaked both hands underneath his tunic and splayed those wicked fingers across his shoulder blades, pressing him ever closer as he ground up into the smaller man's cock.

Actias couldn't hold back the force of the hitched, keening cry that pried itself free. The pressure sent waves of heat throughout his core as his cock leaked a steady stream of precum clean through his smalls and hose. Emet-Selch took full advantage and deepened the kiss, fucking his mouth in earnest and grinding up again. Actias could feel the other man's deep, rumbling moan reverberate through his chest. He was painfully hard and rolled his own hips upon the answering erection mercilessly.

Emet-Selch pulled one of his hands free in favor of raking those fingers through the other man's hair once more, filling his palm with an onyx fistful to gently pull his head back. Gods, if that wasn't a sight. His hair mussed, lips ravaged, a wet pool seeping into the tent in his leggings. Actias gasped as the other man's eyes bore into his soul as he whispered breathlessly, "I must insist that I hear your affirmation before this goes any further, dearheart."

Actias swallowed forcefully, desperately willing his brain to make words a thing. "I-Gods, yes. _Please_ , Em. Anything, just-" he plead through his teeth in frustration, bucking his hips in search of more delectable friction.

Emet-Selch wrenched his head further back and licked a searing line from collarbone to jawline, a low growl emanating from his lips. "Where do you sleep?"

"Dow-Oh, sweet gods-Downstairs!," he cried, panting, "I have a bedroom downstairs."

Without warning, Emet-Selch cupped his ass in those clever hands and hitched Actias's legs around his waist as he stood, carrying him through the shallow hallway to the stairs. Halfway down, he pinned Actias to the wall, claiming his throat and collar with wet, open mouthed bites and kisses. The Miqo'te could do little but cling for dear life, wailing as they finally managed to descend the staircase. As Emet-Selch finally rounded the corner, he froze mid-step.

Confused, Actias drew back from nuzzling the other man's neck and looked up to find his brows furrowed.

"Actias... is-what-," Emet-Selch struggled to find the words to fully appreciate the sight that greeted him below. "Are you quite serious with this?" Actias leaned back, still latched around the other man's hips, and craned his neck to follow his gaze across the room.

There, lanterns glowing softly, impeccably carved statuettes gleaming in the subtle light of the butcher's knife chandelier, was his tonberry bed. Throbbing cock and all, Actias couldn't help throwing his head back in laughter, his eyes tearing up at the corners. "Oh, _come on_!," he thumped the other man's chest with the back of his hand, "I worked hard on that and it's _adorable."_

"In the very near future, we shall have a discussion, _at length_ , regarding your life decisions," Emet-Selch sighed as he continued his trek.

"Plenty of time to make a few more questionable ones until then, huh?," said Actias, pointedly grinding his cock against the taller man's abdomen. Emet-Selch rolled his eyes as he was dropped unceremoniously onto the bed.

"Em, I have no fucking clue where to start with those clothes, but there are definitely too many of them," he said, sitting up to wrest his tunic over his head, flinging it absently into a corner. Emet-Selch stared down at him, eyes roaming over his flushed chest, following the dusting of raven hair that trailed off into his hose. With a sharp grin, he lifted one knee over the side of the bed and stalked his way forward, looking every bit the part of seasoned predator. Twelve have mercy, Actias thought, this man was going to eat him alive.

Emet-Selch paused his onslaught to lean down and run the bridge of his nose through the hair at Actias's soft stomach, nipping as he continued up, pausing once again to lave at hardened, ebony buds. He nudged the smaller man's knees apart with his own and draped himself cock to cock as he arched to suck and pull those peaks gently with his teeth in equal turns. Actias couldn't resist the way his body surged up to meet that maddening mouth, each ministration stoking the inferno that threatened to consume him. Emet-Selch hummed softly, "You are," he punctuated his praise with a vicious nip, sending Actias keening, "Absolutely stunning. Such delicious sounds, just for me."

No longer willing to play the part of inaction, Actias moaned with wanton abandon as he began pushing the other man's overcoat off his shoulders. Emet-Selch chuckled darkly, nibbling gently at the delicate skin of his ear. "Such impatience, dearheart," he crooned, the low rumbling in his throat sending vibrations along his skin. He bit into the soft skin below the jawline, eliciting another loud, desperate series of moans at the sting of teeth.

"Em, please," he whined through hitched cries, lifting his hips against the other's, "Please, I want to see you. I _need_ to touch you."

Emet-Selch palmed his straining cock, stroking his length through the thin layers. "When you beg so prettily, I daresay I could enjoy this for _hours_." Actias let out a strangled whimper as he ground up into that firm hand, "Em, _please_ , I need you to _fuck me_." 

The answering growl was fast approaching frustration as Emet-Selch captured his lips once again, twining their tongues and catching his plush bottom lip with his teeth before panting, "With haste." He snapped his fingers and both of their remaining garments dissipated into luminous plumes of aether. Scorching flesh connected as their bare cocks finally, finally slid alongside each other, both leaking enough to smooth the way. 

Actias moaned out, his cries echoing throughout the open room, as he slid his palms up the revealed expanse of broad, pallid skin. He leaned forward to lift himself up as he peppered haphazard kisses along Emet-Selch's stomach and pectorals. 

He returned the favor by sucking each dusky nipple to full hardness as Emet-Selch clutched the nape of his neck, begging him closer, harder. His skin tasted like the lingering effects of being smacked with a thunder spell. Actias's body practically rang with levin as he dragged his tongue along the planes of his chest. He smoothed a palm through the dusting of auburn hair at the dip of Emet-Selch's stomach, taking his cock in hand. He gently tugged the foreskin back as he stroked down and blanketed the plump, maroon head on the finish. The larger man tipped his head back and groaned with abandon, fucking into the tunnel of his grip.

Suddenly, Actias's world was sent tumbling as he was pressed firmly into the mattress with a snarl as the Ascian engulfed both of their cocks in his palm. Both men cried out at the friction, the strokes eased by the unending spurts of precum from Actias's darkened cock. "That's it, I want to see your face as you fall apart in my arms," Emet-Selch drawled as he propped himself up with an elbow, claiming Actias's mouth as they thrust their hips against one another, their rhythm already faltering from the relentless sensations. 

Actias clawed at the looming man's shoulderblades, blunted nails scoring angry red welts into the pale skin. Emet-Selch pistoned his hips against his aching cock, applying a maddening sensation of pressure each time he stroked their heads. A scalding coil snapped and began unfurling within his stomach as he cried out. "Please, please, don't stop, I'm so close!"

Emet-Selch's hips stuttered as he sank his teeth into Actias's shoulder, a flood of warmth enveloping their cocks with a long, contented groan. Actias's vision whited out as he came harder than he could ever remember, screaming Emet-Selch's name. The larger man continued stroking him through his climax as he slowly regained his senses, until the overstimulation began to send tremors throughout his legs.

Emet-Selch licked each and every one of those slender fingers clean with a slick pop as he hummed to himself, bowing his head to continue his efforts on Actias's stomach. The Miqo'te flushed perfectly crimson as the slurping noises echoed around them, his eyes unfocused as his jaw fell slack. He moaned at the taste of themselves as their tongues gently intertwined in a slow kiss.

“Such a sight you make, debauched and sated,” Emet-Selch whispered against his cheek, cradling the other man to his chest as he pulled the quilt around their shoulders. He smoothed a hand against Actias's cheek, “You are _so beautiful_ , my dearheart.”

Actias turned his head and placed a soft kiss to the middle of his palm. “Em, stay with me.”

“Anything you wish, darling. It would take an act of Zodiark Himself to pry me from this bed. Rest, now.”

Snuggled within Emet-Selch's warm embrace, Actias closed his eyes and sighed. More comfortable than he could recall within recent times, he quickly fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.


	6. Timepass (Hot Coffee)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's more smut and Some Feels, because I can do that! I can! :D

The velvet slide of turning pages roused Actias from his stupor. He squinted his eyes at the chronometer on his nightstand. Barely past seven bells in the morning. Groaning, he turned toward the source of the noise and froze, blinking rapidly as his brain struggled to reconcile with the rest of himself.

Emet-Selch was reclined against the headboard, fairly nestled against his side. He glanced away from his pages and down his nose at the disheveled man beside him. A beatific grin spread across his face as he smoothed the unruly mop of tangled hair atop Actias's head and set his book aside. “Good morning, dearheart. Coffee?,” he said, snapping his fingers to procure a single, steaming cup from aether.

Vertigo lanced through Actias's skull, causing his eyes to unfocus as he reached for the cup, nearly upending the contents. His vision was consumed by flickering shadows. Dulcet, resounding chimes ebbed and flowed from everywhere and nowhere. _No_ , not chimes. _Voices_. What were they saying? His own shimmering and hollow hand stretched forward, bleeding into the shadows that he struggled to make out.

“...tias? _Actias?”_

The vision retreated as he once again took stock of his surroundings. Emet-Selch had taken both shoulders into his hands and peered at him, brows furrowed in concern. Actias attempted to massage the lingering pain from behind his eyes and released his gated breath.

Emet-Selch's grip tightened by the smallest of fractions as his lips drew into a hard line. Ah, _the Echo_. Embarrasingly, he'd neglected to take the scope of its effects into account during this particular rendezvous. Well, there certainly wasn't anything for it now, was there? “Are you well?,” he ventured hesitantly, “What did you see?”

Actias shook his head, still gathering his bearings after such a rude awakening. “I… nothing. Not really. You know how the Echo works, right?” Emet-Selch gave a small nod. “ _Agh_ ,” he continued, throwing up his hands in frustration, “Of course you do. It's almost—it's like the Echo _tried_? It was the same sensation, the same pull, but the vision wouldn't form. Just shapes, shadows. There was music, but it was _saying something_. I _know_ it was voices, but they made no sense.” He dropped both hands to his lap and scowled down at them as though they could give him the answers, but refused.

Emet-Selch's eyes fluttered closed as he steeled himself. “I̷̤̎s̶̥̈ ̷̲̱͝t̸͕͘͝ḩ̵̬̾̔ĭ̵͖̒s̵̡̹͂̀ ̶̢̆w̵̛̹h̶̡̪̽͂á̶ͅẗ̷̖́ ̸̬̋͗y̸̛̭̭ǫ̶͆͝u̵̯͂ ̷͖̖͒h̴̩͛̕͜e̷̤̯͒â̸͖̯ṙ̸̝̭d̸̲̉̈́?̵͈͊ͅ”

Actias gasped in shock as his head snapped up to meet the Ascian's eyes. Deep, reverberating tones fled his lips, coalescing within one another as they formed into the shape of words.

“I̸̼͋ť̴͓̩͝ ̴̹̈́w̸͈̿o̵͕̫̓͑u̷̱͑̊l̷̦͛̂ḏ̷̀ ̸̥͛a̸̗̦̽͝p̶͖̫͑p̵̫̟̓̆e̴̝͋̍a̸̦̎͘͜r̴̪̙͊ ̵̨̭͝t̶̗͊ĥ̷̛͚a̶̛̍ͅt̷͖̬͛͆ ̸͚̠̆ṱ̸͎͋h̴͓̓e̶̬̒͝ ̶̫̾͠Ȩ̸̒͠c̷̹̘̆h̶͖̣͐ơ̵̢̋ͅ ̷̝͙͑a̴̻̋t̴̯̿͠ţ̶͎̏̚ě̴̡̻m̴͜͝p̸̗̉t̶͓̒ë̷͇́d̷̺̽ ̸̝̬̒t̴̲͒õ̶̞ ̸͙̑g̸̗̯͑i̵̖̩̕v̷̰͈́ē̶̞͝ ̵̭̅̑ȳ̵̯͉ỏ̶͔ŭ̶̢̫ ̴͚̅a̷̫͗̿ ̷̩̰̾g̶̺̐͌l̵̗̙̽̎į̸̳͛̉ṃ̸̄͜p̸͖͕͝s̵̨̤e̶̱͊̄ ̶̛̗͐i̷͒ͅn̴̘͒̐ṭ̴̼̆͘ô̸̩ ̶̟̲̏̋m̴̛̮͍͆y̴̑͌͜ ̶͖̊m̷̗͍̌e̸̼̙̊m̷̗͍̌o̴̮͛͆r̴͉͐ì̷̭̑e̸̦̝̅͝s̴̛ͅ.̵̗̬̐͘ ̵̫̙͌̾ ̴͉̳̄̈́T̴͇͈̐ḫ̷̛͗͜ȋ̴̤ͅs̵̙͔̽ ̵̡͔̽i̴̭̎͊͜s̴̼ ̷͖̋͝t̵̖͎̍̓h̵̳̾̄͜ḙ̴̅̓ ̶̻̥́̿ṋ̴̤̏a̸̢͋t̴̑ͅí̷͍͜v̶̖̗̿͌e̴͍͗͜ ̶̢͎̕l̶̙͂̈́a̸̺̰̔n̷̢̯͝g̸̖̰͒͝u̸̬̽͠ã̴̦̑ͅg̶̥͋e̸̙̋ ̵̭̱͝ô̴̳̪f̸͕͆ ̵͓̕ _m̴̻̾̃y̷̱͊ ̶̍̄ͅ_ p̴̛̤͌e̸͍o̵̠̽p̵͖͒ḻ̷̛̭͆e̶̺̓̅.̶͍͘”

He shuddered and instinctively turned away, as if averting his eyes would somehow bolster his hearing. Every single harmonious syllable thrummed against his very soul. Each crystalline knell oscillated throughout his being with the threat of long forgotten pieces that yet remained, infuriatingly, out of reach. He could blame the Echo for the understanding, but _why_ was it so _godsdamned_ familiar?

Emet-Selch lifted the cup from his hands and set it aside on the nightstand. He placed his hand on Actias's cheek and gently turned his face to meet his gaze. “I fear your Echo may have been waylaid by shadows most unwelcoming toward a gift of the Light. I only sought to offer an explanation. In defiance of my prowess for it, I did not intend to upset you so.”

Actias turned into his palm and placed a soft kiss upon Emet-Selch's wrist. “It's the strangest feeling. I know the melody,” he whispered, eyes wrenched shut, “But I forgot all the words.”

Something within Emet-Selch's chest writhed and screamed as it clawed jagged gashes into the walls of his soul. He sank back against the plush mattress and drew Actias into the circle of his arms. _Of course_ he'd forgotten. Wasn't that the point? Even the thrice-damned Echo refused to relinquish its deathgrip upon the precious anamnesis still threaded within his very aether. Being _told_ would not produce the same results as _knowing_ , despite the monstrous ache which fought viciously to prove otherwise.

He carded his fingers through Actias's hair, absentmindedly untangling snarls from his bed head. “Let us think on less severe subjects, hmm? Given time, we may try again, mayhap the Echo shall become clear. 'Tis not even been a full bell since waking, it's far too early in the morning for such dour discussion. Finish your coffee, dearheart, and tell me what you have planned for today.”

“I'd like that, trying again.” Actias nuzzled his face further within the pillow of Emet-Selch's chest and hummed softly. “I considered taking a day to myself, honestly. There's still no word from Alisaie about our desert situation.”

“Alisae,” Emet-Selch hummed softly, “That would be the angrier of the twins, yes?”

“Yes, and she'd _absolutely_ deck you for saying that,” he laughed as he rose to grab his cup. “Damn, Em, I barely remembered what good coffee tasted like,” he continued as he slurped down the rest of the contents. “Can I get a refill?,” he asked, grinning sheepishly.

“A favor begets a _favor_ ,” Emet-Selch purred, tracing a slender finger along Actias's chin. “What is a _magnificent_ cup of coffee worth to you?”

Actias crawled up his chest, crowding him against the headboard. “What kind of favor am I supposed to do for someone who can just create whatever he needs?”

He chuckled softly as he brushed his nose against Actias's. “Oh, I can think of quite a few things I would enjoy even more were they not wrought by my _own hand_.”

Actias barked out a laugh, “Is that where this is going? You could have just asked.” He slid back down Emet-Selch's chest, dragging the comforter along with him to expose his thighs. He was still bare, apparently, and his hardening length bobbed as it was freed from the bedding.

Actias leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as he placed a simmering line of open mouthed kisses down the center of Emet-Selch's chest. As he paused to lave over a nipple, he gasped and clutched at Actias's jaw, dragging him up.

Emet-Selch was a pristine vision of lust incarnate, seeming malms of creamy, olive skin and a lanky frame that already shimmered with sweat. Hooded eyes shuttered luminescent, molten irises that threatened to burn holes in his skin under the heat of his gaze. He looked at Actias as though he were something precious, a glittering gem to behold, to keep close and safe.

Actias moaned unabashedly as he licked his way into his mouth. He spread his hands across and up that broad chest to hook his arms around his neck. Emet-Selch's tongue slid against his own, warm and searching. Actias curled his fingers around his nape, scratching his nails through the closely shorn hair.

They became an undulating mass of questing hands and soft moans as their kiss turned filthy. With a rumbling groan, Emet-Selch redoubled his efforts, greedily sucking Actias's tongue deeper within his mouth. Actias keened as he ground his length down, already wet and wanting against his stomach. Emet-Selch dragged Actias's lip between his teeth as he pulled back, using his leverage to pull his head to the side. “Em—I— _hah_ ,” Actias groaned between heaving breaths as he dug his nails into Emet-Selch's shoulders, “You're killing me.”

Actias panted sharply as Emet-Selch kissed a line down the column of his neck, crying out as he scraped his teeth along that fluttering pulse. “I know that our negotiations indicated that I would be the benefactor of this arrangement, however, I'm certainly willing to wing it,” Emet-Selch growled against his skin. “What do you want, Actias? Tell me,” he punctuated with another searing bite as he slid his hands around to cup his ass, “I will give you _everything_.”

“I want to taste you, please, let me put my mouth on you,” Actias panted. “I require no further convincing,” Emet-Selch growled into his ear. With haste, Actias scrambled down Emet-Selch's chest, leaving a wake of wet kisses and gentle nips to that pale skin along the way. Emet-Selch shuffled back a few ilms, using the headboard as leverage to prop himself up for the show.

Actias nudged his knees apart and slipped between his thighs, giving each of them a series of soft bites that left Emet-Selch groaning, rolling his hips in search of more. Finally, Actias grasped his length and licked a broad stripe upward, swirling his tongue around his weeping tip, pausing to kiss and toy with his frenulum. Emet-Selch's head smacked against the headboard as he moaned, panting, never breaking eye contact with the man between his legs.

With a devilish grin, Actias gave his cock a few experimental strokes before bowing to suck as much of the length as he could fit into the heat of his mouth. Emet-Selch snaked a hand down to grip his hair without pushing, craving more contact. Actias continued to bob his head and increased the suction on each upstroke, using his hand to cover the skin he couldn't reach, stroking in time. Actias pulled his elbows forward for balance as his other hand quested below to gently cup and roll his balls before placing two fingers against his perineum.

Emet-Selch jolted as the pressure from those fingers grew harder, their strokes faster. “Actias, please,” he choked out between gasps, “I need more.” Actias moaned around his mouthful and slid off his cock for a moment to swirl his tongue around his own fingers before replacing them, tracing his saliva slicked digits around Emet-Selch's hole. “Yes, _yes_!,” he hissed, grinding his hips down against those fingers, “I am not made of gla—Ah!” Actias pressed his middle finger past the ring of muscle to the second knuckle, meeting only token resistance, as he swallowed him down again and began pumping in earnest.

Emet-Selch fisted his hair once more, drawing a low moan from Actias as he gripped tightly. Actias's finger finally hit its mark as Emet-Selch cried out, stars bursting behind his eyes. “Seven hells, _right there_.” Actias massaged his prostate in time with his ministrations as Emet-Selch continued to cry out, broken noises crashing past his lips each time it was touched.

A deep flush had spread far past Emet-Selch's cheeks, his rose tinted skin flooded well below his pectorals. Actias was painfully close from the sight of Emet-Selch writhing underneath him, meeting his finger with each thrust, and ground his hips against the mattress relentlessly as he plunged his finger in and out of Emet-Selch's hole.

“I'm so close, just a little further, please, Actias,” he cried. Actias sucked as much of his cock as he could and hollowed his cheeks, drawing hard as he pulled up, circling his fingers over his prostate. Once, twice, and the man beneath him shattered. He came in long, shuddering bursts and rich, wordless moans. His chest heaved as he threw his head back, Actias's hair still within his grasp.

Unable to tear his eyes away from Emet-Selch's face, Actias ground his hips into the mattress one last time and spilled as he moaned around his cock, cum beginning to leak from the slack of his swollen lips. Actias collapsed, pillowing his head on one trembling thigh while he gently stroked the other.

“Well,” Actias panted, canting his head to look at the boneless man above him, “These sheets are ruined.”

Without lifting his head, Emet-Selch raised one shaking arm and snapped his fingers. Instantly, the rumpled mess of sweat, cum, and spit was renewed. “Let it not be said,” he breathed with a chuckle, “That I was never of use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slaps monitor* This bad boy can hold so many references in it. I want to get into some Actual Plot here shortly, but seeing as how I'm pulling all of this from my ass as I go, who knows where it'll end up? (It's not a Bad Ending, though, I can promise that. I am. Too soff for bads.)


	7. Grenouille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ribbited for your pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will. Without fail. Step in every single ability that turns me into a frog. I'm not even sorry.

Delighted, staccato chirps and croaks bubbled forth from the tiny frog within Emet-Selch's palms. Each noise caused the creature's throat to expand and he swore he could see the thing's eyes crinkled with a smile.

Emet-Selch sighed as he gazed up at the Palace walls. "I specifically revealed the traps for you, Actias, at no great expense, mind. Though, my efforts have been wasted all the same. You _deliberately_ went out of your way to activate that glyph." He scowled down at the fat, green ball as Actias the Frog struggled to free himself from his grip.

Emet-Selch relented to his wriggling and let go as the frog dropped with a smack against the crumbling marble floor on his back. Actias struggled to right himself, his much smaller, stubbier legs flailing for purchase. He gave a frustrated croak as he finally managed to flip his rotund form topside, glaring tiny daggers up at the looming man.

After shaking himself off, Actias took off about the room, chirping ecstatically as he bounced along. Emet-Selch pinched the bridge of his nose as molten irises followed the toad.

A few moments later, Actias was sent tumbling arse over teakettle as a puff of aether heralded the end of his affliction. Sprawled out on the Palace floor, he peeked sheepishly up the incredibly nonplussed man leaning over him.

"Best. Debuff. Ever!" He crowed as he cackled maniacally. "Can you honestly tell me that in all your years, you've _never_ been a frog?"

"...I cannot seem to recall as such, no."

"Em, it's _the best_. 'Oh, I know what'll really fuck over my enemies, I'll make them small and round and adorable!' I dunno who came up with that logic, but they really didn't think it through."

Emet-Selch extended an arm to pull Actias from the floor. "I would wager the intent was to make those aforementioned enemies easier to dispose of, my dear. Smaller, more clumsy targets with no abilities to speak of certainly tip the scales in one's favor."

Actias gasped in faux offense as he swatted the other man's arm. " _Emet-Selch_ , what kind of absolute bastard would murder a _frog_?"

"Exactly the kind of person who would deign to polymorph them in the first place," he countered with an exasperated chuckle.

"Welp, that's enough of a distraction for now, I think. We've only got two more floors to search through. Though, fair warning, if I see another frog glyph, I _will_ step on it," Actias offered with a shrug as he unsheathed his chakrams. "I don't make the rules."

Emet-Selch sighed, smiling to himself as he watched Actias dance off toward the Cairn of Passage. 


	8. Far Reserved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet-Selch takes it upon himself to pamper an exhausted Actias after a brutalizing day trekking across the sands of Nabaath Araeng.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What. Would I actually write 2K words of porn as an excuse to buy another house to decorate?
> 
> You bet your ass I would.

Heaving a bone weary sigh, Actias braced himself against the tentpost to kick off his boots. He managed to get them part of the way before giving up and shuffling his way out of them as he collapsed face first into his bedroll. A fine plume of dust and sand settled around him. Groaning, he cursed to himself. Laundry was a problem for future Actias, present Actias just wanted to die for a little. Just a bit.

Their expedition into Nabaath Araeng had been a bit of a shit show, if he was being honest. Between dealing with awkward engineers, being dragged across the scalding sands while listening to Thancred's bickering, and playing therapist to the locals, Actias had suffered most of the day and their trials in the desert were far from over.

He grabbed great fistfuls of his threadbare blanket and angrily shoved it down and out of the way. The Light was too severe for his blend of sunscreen, no matter how often he reapplied. He could feel the chalky mixture of it, dried and cracking on his skin along with the day's dirt and sweat. There was nothing for it, he had to get out of this coat before he developed heat exhaustion. After chucking the coat away, Actias hissed in pain as he hoisted his shirt over his head, scraping the roasted skin at his nape. The ordinarily soft linen felt more like being dragged through a field of cactuar. He tossed the dusty garment into another corner of his tent. After a few futile attempts at swiping his bedroll free of sand, he lowered himself back to the ground.

Even shaded by the lip of the mineshaft, the heat radiated throughout and had long since settled deep within the land's bones. It swallowed whole any respite the darkness should provide.

Of course, his traveling companions hadn't fared any better. Poor Urianger looked akin to a tomato by travel's end today and Actias discovered that both twins _had freckl_ _es_. The unrelenting sun had drawn them out in the most adorable little constellations across their noses and cheeks. He'd needled Alisae about how cute they were until she threatened to "familiarize his arse with the business end of her rapier." He had every confidence she'd do it, too, so he quickly changed the subject. Thancred spent most of the day neglecting his own discomfort by passive aggressively ensuring that Minfilia was well. Y'shtola, however, remained curiously pristine. He really needed to remember to ask what was up with _that._

As the haunting sounds of the desert threatened to lull him into sleep, Actias felt cool fingers softly drawing lines down his sides. He yelped and turned only to curse a blue streak when he scraped his shoulder against the sheets. He was halfway to drawing his chakrams from beneath his pillow when those same hands gently patted the sides of his face.

"I've had warmer receptions, to be fair. I thought you heard my portal."

Actias visibly sagged with a defeated groan, his cupped face melting comically into Emet-Selch's palms. "I was completely out of it. I know you must have been watching the festivities today."

"Indeed, I was," Emet-Selch crooned. "Though, I confess, my attention began to wane around the third act. I applaud your efforts with the locals, but really, Actias. You're too willing to accept every little problem sight unseen. It's arguably both your most admirable and your most questionable trait." He drew Actias up and tucked his head beneath his chin. "Darling, didn't anyone ever tell you that an onze of discretion goes a very long way?"

Actias whined in frustration and buried his sweaty, filth covered face into Emet-Selch's previously unmarred robes of state.

"You look like you could use a bit of care, my dear. What say you to quitting this place for the night?"

Actias nodded his head without moving from the folds of his robe. Emet-Selch chuckled as he waved his hand to summon forth a portal, still laughing as the blessedly cool darkness enveloped them both.

When his vision refocused, Actias was standing precisely _nowhere_ he recognized. The room was shadowed and glittering blue lights could barely be seen beyond the sheer curtains of massive windows to his left. Emet-Selch snapped his fingers and the room exploded with light.

Actias blinked his eyes a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness. The room before him was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The narrow foyer lead into an open living room and kitchenette. A sleek, cream leather sofa dominated the room along with a short, dark coffee table and spindly chairs. A plush carpet of the same cream framed the setting along with stands filled to the brim with lush greenery and velvety blooms. Deep, glossy marble stretched the entire length of both rooms.

The kitchenette was simple and featured the same sharp lines of the rest of the home's architecture. Dark wooden cabinets lined the wall and a free standing island housed various cooking implements. A small cafe table with a pair of chairs sat next to the island with a dogeared book and a still steaming cup of coffee set upon it.

Emet-Selch sidled up behind the dumbstruck man and slipped his arms around Actias's waist. "It seems as though you weren't expecting this," Emet-Selch whispered into his ear. "These are the personal rooms I keep, far reserved from the tribulations of this star. Come, the facilities are this way."

He grasped Actias's hand and began leading him through the living room and into a hallway that was lined with various framed pictures. Actias stumbled a step trying to get a better look at them. "There's plenty of time to ogle until your heart's content _after_ I've scraped the desert from you," he said as he tugged gently on Actias's hand.

He was lead into the first room on the right of the hall and was once again awestricken. The low light of the angular lamps glimmered off the gilded walls. To his right, a cabinet and washbasin adorned the wall along with another machine he couldn't begin to know the use for. He supposed it could be what he imagined an Ironworks toilet might resemble with all of the panels and buttons. To the left, however, was one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen.

An absolutely massive bath filled with gently steaming water that beckoned him like a siren's call. Without another thought, he began stumbling toward it.

"Ah, just a moment." Emet-Selch placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's much too warm for your burns at present. Here," he snapped his fingers and the steam dissipated. The marble felt blissfully chilled beneath his feet as his skin attempted to absorb every last bit of cold from the stone. "There, now, disrobe, if you would be so kind."

Actias smirked as he hooked his fingers into his trousers, caring very little for modesty as this point. He dragged the whole of his smalls and pants down without a thought. He gracelessly tossed them to the side as he tested the water. It was lukewarm, a touch on the colder side. Actias hoisted himself over the wooden ledge and sank down to his shoulders in the water. He sighed loudly as every last bit of tension fled his muscles. "By the Twelve, Em, I believe I've actually died," Actias groaned loudly as he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.

Somewhere, soft piano music had started playing. He cracked open an eye to see Emet-Selch sinking down into the tub before him. Soft ripples traveled along the surface as he stalked toward Actias with a sinful grin across his face.

Actias's face darkened further than even the sunburn as he pulled himself up to sit against the bench of the tub. The ledge housed a variety of washcloths, soaps, and curiously swirling vials of oil. He picked a soap that smelled of deep forests and campfires and began lathering his skin, applying only token swipes along his burns. Emet-Selch retrieved a vial from the ledge and poured a dollop into his palm. “Lean back, dearheart,” he whispered as he drew Actias back between his knees. His slender fingers felt absolutely delectable against his scalp as they massaged the thick lather through the weather beaten locks. He tipped the smaller man back and began to rinse the soap from his hair.

"You'll find that I've taken the liberty of utilizing a few additives for your bath this evening. Your skin and any injuries should already be much improved and fully healed shortly." He slid his wet palm down the curve of his nape to illustrate.

Actias breathed a sigh of relief and felt only the barest hint of pain. "Oh, gods, it feels so much better."

"Hmm," Emet-Selch drew his fingers along Actias's soft stomach and scraped his nails through the hair below his navel. "I think you could feel _better still_."

Actias turned in his lap and whimpered as Emet-Selch slotted his mouth against his own, his tongue demanding entrance. Sparks hotter than the distant sands raced through his body and straight to his cock as Emet-Selch reversed their positions and seated himself on his lap. His hips bucked of their own volition, grinding his hardening length against firm skin. Actias dug his fingers into the wiry muscle of Emet-Selch's legs, cupping his ass and gripping just where his thighs ended.

Emet-Selch undulated atop him as he continued devouring Actias's mouth. Desperate moans finally escaped his lips as Emet-Selch began licking and biting down the column of his throat. Clever fingers twisted and pinched his nipples into stiff peaks before that wicked mouth descended further. He sucked each dark nipple into his mouth, one after the other, laving at each equally with the flat of his tongue.

A sudden, loud snap broke Actias's trance as those fingers began slicking up two of his own. Lifting himself up and forward, Emet-Selch guided his hand to his entrance. Actias wasted no time delving into his cleft to swirl them over his twitching hole before sliding both in.

Emet-Selch cried out at the initial stretch, a punched out breath full of want. He steadied himself with his hands on Actias's shoulders as he pushed back, driving those fingers even deeper. Actias hooked both as Emet-Selch pulled forward and dragged them slowly over his prostate. The larger man jolted and ground back down on his fingers as he panted, moaning wordlessly above him.

Actias met each thrust with pressure of his own, driving as deep as possible before scissoring and stretching his hole. Emet-Selch groaned before taking a fistful of onyx hair into his hands as he dragged Actias's lips to meet his own in a fierce kiss. "That's enough," he panted, "I want _you_ , Actias."

His molten irises pierced through the shadowed room, gleaming of their own accord. Emet-Selch was the very picture of debauchery above him. His damp locks were tossed to one side as his face twisted with desire, his brows furrowed, lips swollen and shining as he panted. Actias withdrew his fingers as Emet-Selch repositioned himself over his cock and slid down, sheathing him in one motion.

The sound Emet-Selch made as he lifted and began to ride him was pure, unabashed filth. He groaned, long and deep as he stared into Actias's eyes, impaling himself over and over. The searing heat of his clenching hole was nearly his undoing each time it enveloped his cock. Electricity carved its way through his body each time he bottomed out. It was nearly unbearable and he began meeting his thrusts each time he descended, grinding his length against the spot that made Emet-Selch whimper and shudder in his arms.

"Ah," Emet-Selch shouted, "yes, just there, _please_."

Actias began grinding against his ass with every ounce of strength left in his body as he took Emet-Selch's cock into his hand, stroking in time as their rhythm began to falter.

" _Ngh, stars_ , just a little more," Emet-Selch panted, torn between the cock in his ass and the hand on his cock. With a shout he shuddered and stilled as he painted the dark skin of Actias's chest as he came. The vise like grip of his pulsing hole was enough to rip Actias's orgasm out of him. He moaned loudly against Emet-Selch and buried his cock deeper still as he spilled inside him.

Emet-Selch sighed from the loss as he lifted himself off and sank back down to capture Actias's lips in a soft kiss. He wrapped an arm around his neck and drew his fingers softly across Actias's damp cheek. Emet-Selch poured every stray, broken piece of himself into claiming the other man's mouth slowly, gently.

"Come," he smiled down at the punch drunk look on Actias's face. "Let us see about getting some proper sleep."

He stepped out of the tub, snagging a pair of large, fluffy towels from a nearby bar before turning to offer a hand to Actias. He draped one of the towels around his shoulders before running his fingers through Actias's damp locks, instantly drying them.

At the quizzical look on Actias's face he simply replied, "What? It doesn't _always_ have to be a snap."

The pair laughed together as Emet-Selch steered them further down the hall. The bedroom was lined with the same massive windows as the living room, their view obscured entirely by thick, inky blue drapes. A ridiculously soft and inviting bed took up much of the room, save for a small wardrobe and vanity.

Emet-Selch finished toweling off himself as he turned to do the same for Actias. "Why didn't you just dry us off along with the hair?"

"It's not _nearly as fun_ ," he replied, pouting as he turned the comforter back and crawled underneath. He patted the other side expectantly. He wrapped his arms around Actias and pulled him flush with his chest as they settled into the luxurious sheets. He placed a soft kiss to the top of his head as he whispered, "Sleep, my dear. Stars only know what awaits the Warrior of Light on the morrow."

**Author's Note:**

> Like reading and writing FFXIV fanfic? Come join us at the Bookclub for all your wholesomely debauched needs <3\. [Emet-Selch's Enabling and Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)


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